Christina Shusho

Why do I always get to sit next to the strangest people in public transport? If it isn’t the lady that keeps unleashing heinous farts, and then wriggling her nose like the rest of us when the pungent stench wafts through the air, threatening to pass all of us out, it is the freak that keeps looking down my blouse, hoping to catch a glimpse of my (barely existent) cleavage. If it isn’t the nitwit that sits like he owns the vehicle, it is the blabbermouth that will be talking down his phone like he is delivering a speech at a fully-parked Yankee Stadium, without the public address system.